Chapter 4: Whispers and Goodbyes

He was always the one to rescue us from trouble. I’d hold Holly’s hand and cheer him on, watching as he shimmied up the trunk like he was still a boy himself.

On summer nights, we’d sneak up there with a blanket and count the constellations. Robert would stand at the bottom, flashlight in hand, making sure we didn’t fall.

After we were together, he suddenly wouldn’t let me do those things anymore.

He started fussing over me, telling me to stay off the roof, to let him do the heavy lifting. It was sweet, in a way, but sometimes I missed the old days.

He never said it out loud, but I could see it in the way he looked at other families, the longing in his eyes when he watched boys playing catch in the yard next door.

Maybe because of my rough childhood, even after years at the Carter house, a year passed and I still couldn’t get pregnant.

Each month, hope would bubble up and then crash down hard. I tried not to let it show, but sometimes the disappointment was too much to hide.

I felt sorry for him. He treated me so well, but I couldn’t give him a son.

I’d lie awake at night, watching him sleep, wondering if he regretted marrying me. I wanted so badly to make him happy.

Robert could always tell what I was thinking. He’d comfort me, soft as ever:

“Ellie, don’t be sad. We’re still young, there’s plenty of time.”

He’d brush my hair back from my face, his voice soft. I wanted to believe him, to believe that time was on our side.

We were in love, with all the time in the world. Or so I thought.

But men can change so suddenly. You think you know them, and then—bam—the rug gets pulled out from under you.

Looking back, I see the signs. The way he grew distant, how he’d avoid my eyes at dinner, the excuses that started piling up.

Robert started coming home later and later, and when he did come home, he’d crash in the other room.

He’d leave before dawn, come home after midnight. Some nights, I’d wait up, but he never came to bed.

She crept in one night, dragging her blanket behind her. “I had a bad dream,” she whispered. I let her stay, grateful for the company.

The house was full of laughter and the smell of turkey, but Robert barely touched his plate. As soon as dessert was served, he made some excuse and slipped out the door.

It was our little tradition—writing wishes on lanterns and watching them float up into the night sky. Holly clapped her hands, eyes wide with excitement.

They were silhouetted by the lanterns’ glow, huddled close together. My heart dropped. Even from far away, I knew who they were.

Her voice carried across the water, drawing stares from the crowd. My cheeks burned as people began to whisper.

I felt their eyes on me, some pitying, some smug. Maple Heights was a small town—everyone knew everyone’s business.

I scooped her up, pressed her face into my shoulder, and walked as fast as I could, ignoring the murmurs behind me.

By morning, the whole town was buzzing. People talked about nothing else at the diner, at church, even in line at the grocery store.

I kept the curtains drawn, let the phone go unanswered. Holly asked why we couldn’t go to the park, and I just told her it was too cold.

Her voice was small, uncertain. I could hear the confusion, the hurt. I knelt down and hugged her tight, searching for words that wouldn’t make things worse.

I realized I’d been clinging to a fantasy, believing that love was enough to keep a family together. Holly’s question broke my heart.

She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her voice cold. For the first time, I saw how little she cared for me—or Holly.

It was like a curtain had been pulled back. Every smile, every gentle word had been part of a plan, and now the truth was out.

I’d never tried to stop him. I thought if I just worked harder, loved him more, things would get better.

The whispers around town grew louder. I started to piece things together, realizing this was bigger than just a fling.

He smelled like cologne and expensive whiskey. He didn’t knock—just walked right in, as if nothing had changed.

He pulled me close, desperate in a way I’d never seen before. When it was over, I lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling empty.

His words cut through the darkness like a knife. My breath caught. I turned to look at him, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes.

The room felt colder than ever. I pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders, trying to keep my voice steady.

I repeated the words in my head, trying to make sense of them. My heart pounded in my chest.

I felt like I was disappearing, fading into the wallpaper. I swallowed hard and forced myself to speak.

My voice sounded strange, too calm. I waited for him to say something, anything.